


Sleepless in London

by LeapAngstily



Series: December Footie Fanfic Giveaway [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Look at me stepping out of my comfort zone, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:03:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2714903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the worst parts about playing in England, in Oscar’s opinion, is that he never gets to spend the Christmas with his loved ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepless in London

**Author's Note:**

> First gift written for my [December Footie Fanfic Giveaway](http://montosmadman.tumblr.com/post/104190423597). (Please do take a look if you’re experiencing acute fic needs.) 
> 
> I’m not familiar with this pairing _at all_ , so I hope I didn’t mess up too badly.

One of the worst parts about playing in England, in Oscar’s opinion, is that he never gets to spend the Christmas with his loved ones.  
  
Sure, he has Ludy and Julia with him, but it does not stop him from feeling a twinge of jealously when Neymar gloats over the phone how happy he is to go back to Brazil for the festive season.  
  
Oscar misses his family in Brazil, and it seems almost unfair that he cannot be with them for such an important celebration. He tells this to Neymar as well, his annoyed grumble only half-joking.  
  
Oscar misses spending time with Neymar as well, although that he does not share with him.  
  
Ludy flies to Brazil with Julia before Christmas, to meet the relatives who would kill Oscar and Ludy if they kept the baby from them longer than they already have. They will be back for the Christmas Eve, Oscar reminds himself, but still he cannot help but feel lonely in the empty apartment.  
  
Christmas is the time that should be dedicated to family and friends, and yet here he is, stuck alone in the rainy London, preparing for his next match. The sacrifices he makes for his career.  
  
Two days until Christmas, and Oscar is late to return home from the match against Stoke City. He is dragging his feet, exhaustion weighing on his every limb, and all he wants to do is curl up in his bed and sleep until the next year.  
  
The first thing he notices when he opens the front door is that the lights are on – he did not leave them on, he is sure of it – and the next one is the large suitcase blocking his way through the hallway. It is not Ludy’s.  
  
“Took you long enough!” Neymar’s voice rings through the apartment, far too chipper for the late hour, and Oscar thinks he should be surprised. He is not.  
  
“What’re you doing here?” Oscar grumbles as he walks into the living room where Neymar is lounging on the sofa, clad in worn-out sweatpants –  _Oscar’s sweatpants_  – and a too big t-shirt with a ridiculous animal print on it, “Aren’t you supposed to be in Brazil?”  
  
“My flight’s tomorrow. You sounded like you needed company,” Neymar’s answer is nonchalant, like it was everyday he flew to England just because his friend was feeling a bit down, “Your neighbour gave me the spare key – I watched your game on TV.”  
  
Then there is  _that smile_ , the one Oscar has never been able to resist, and he immediately forgets to worry about their neighbours giving the keys to complete strangers (given, they probably  _did_  recognize Neymar).  
  
“You didn’t have to,” he insists weakly, but he is already walking over to the sofa and leaning down to pull Neymar into a tight hug. The arms wrapping around his waist feel comfortable, Neymar is warm against him, and Oscar thinks he could fall asleep in the familiar embrace, his face pressed against the fluffy mess of Neymar’s hair.  
  
“I know. But I wanted to,” Neymar says softly as Oscar finally loosens his hold and tries to pull away.  
  
Neymar will not have any of it, though: he takes a firm hold on Oscars arm and pulls him down to the sofa, into a flailing mess of too long limbs and pointy elbows. They wrestle for a while until Oscar gives up – too easily, he knows – lying on his back and letting Neymar settle comfortably on his chest, that same winning smile tugging on his lips again.  
  
“I missed you,” Oscar admits quietly, one of his hands finding its way to the small of Neymar’s back. It fits there perfectly, like it always has, “Thank you.”  
  
“Anything for you,” Neymar rests his chin at the crook of Oscar’s neck and drops a playful kiss against his jaw line, “Consider this your Christmas present from me, okay?”  
  
Oscar chuckles lazily, his eyes drooping again, the earlier tiredness flooding back into his body, “And here I thought you had something big for me in that huge bag of yours. Cheapskate.”  
  
“Shut up,” Neymar tells him affectionately, and then he squirms on top of Oscar, moving up until their faces are level, foreheads pressed together, “You’ve got me. What else could you possibly need?”  
  
“How about a Lamborghini?” Oscar suggests cheekily, the feel of Neymar’s breath on his lips making him feel dizzy, “I could totally trade you for a really nice Lamborghini.”  
  
“You wound me,” Neymar clicks his tongue in fake disdain, but then he brushes a chaste kiss on Oscar’s lips, “I missed you too, stupid.”  
  
Oscar takes a hold of the back of Neymar’s neck and pulls him into a longer kiss, flicking his tongue against his lips, not letting him pull away before they run out of air.  
  
“Okay, maybe  _two_  Lamborghinis,” Oscar hums the words against Neymar’s lips, and he can feel Neymar’s suppressed snigger more than hear it.  
  
He knows he deserves the whack on the head that follows, and it is soon forgotten as he has Neymar’s soft lips on his again.


End file.
